


Chat on a Hot Tin Roof

by Freedom_Shamrock



Series: Marichat May 2019 [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Angst, F/M, Marichat, Marichat May
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 08:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18847519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freedom_Shamrock/pseuds/Freedom_Shamrock
Summary: Chat Noir encounters Marinette one night and learns something that leads him to a disturbing conclusion about his father.





	Chat on a Hot Tin Roof

**Author's Note:**

> While I do expect this to contain some fluff, there is more angst than my usual work.
> 
> Marichat May prompt #13, villain.

Chat Noir was enjoying a peaceful night run over the rooftops of Paris. It was one of his preferred ways of winding down before bed, especially when he'd been through a particularly busy spell as Adrien Agreste. Today he'd sat for two midterm exams, had an overly long modeling shoot paired with an absolute diva, and double Mandarin lessons to make up for missing last week's due to an akuma attack. 

He'd hoped his father would relax his hold on Adrien's leash as he grew up and proved himself responsible. If anything he found himself in a veritable stranglehold, with even less time for friends and his own pursuits. He wasn't sure he could put up with another two years of this and was strongly considering moving out and cutting ties with his father. Two years ago, he would have been shocked to think such a thing, but the mansion had only gotten colder and his father's criticisms harsher over time.

He was dashing over a rooftop in the neighborhood near his old lycee when he heard scuffling feet and muttering. He threw his momentum into a roll, allowing him to stop and check it out. Peeking down from the top of a three-story building, he was surprised to find a familiar friend. He tilted his head, puzzled as he watched Marinette striding down the sidewalk talking to herself. 

"It's not  **that** weird… but it  **is** … and his name  **means** butterfly.  He's been using the logo since he started, but…" Even his sensitive ears couldn't quite pick up everything.  "He's had the grimoire for  **years** , and if he's  **just** using it for designs I'll eat my…"

"Good evening, Princess," Chat said, dropping down in front of her and bowing majestically. This turned out to be a bit of a mistake and upon further reflection, he realized that surprising anyone at night, especially women out on their own, should never be done at close range.

"Aaaahhhh!" Marinette shrieked.

He wasn't quite sure what she did next, just that he found himself suddenly making friends with the sidewalk. His arms and legs had somehow been bound up behind him, and his face hurt.  "Mmpf?" he asked the cobblestones.

"Ohmygod!" she blurted.  "Chat Noir? Is that really you?" She sounded horrified.  He'd heard horrified Marinette enough in the last three years to know it. "I'm  **so** sorry!"  

His limbs were loosened, and he realized she'd trussed him up like a prize buck with his own tail! 

"Are you okay?" she asked urgently, helping him stretch out and roll over. 

He looked up at her, bent over him, concern clear on her face, and couldn't help but smile.  Ouch. That hurt his cheek. The absurdity of the situation suddenly struck him. Chat Noir, hero of Paris had been taken down by a tiny helpful cupcake. He flopped onto his back and laughed.

"Oh no," she whispered. "I've concussed him. Crap. Should I call an ambulance? Maybe I can find Ladybug…"

"No Princess," he said around the chuckles. "I'm fine. Just struck by how amazing you are."

She didn't look like she believed him, but she sat down next to him and peered into his eyes. "I'm not so sure about that. I just threw you on the ground. I'm a disaster, a danger to those around me."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Ladybug has thrown me much farther."

"I scuffed up your cheek." She sighed sadly. 

"It's fine," he insisted. He wondered if it would get him out of modeling for a week, or if his father would eschew his usual feelings about heavy makeup and photoshop to keep Adrien in place. "But this does bring up a serious question.  **What** are you doing out so late on your own?  You working through a vicious fashion problem?"  It was a safe question. Chat Noir had interacted with Marinette on a semi-regular basis.  They weren't quite friends, but they were as close as he could realistically be with a civilian. She probably knew him as well as Ladybug, who was fine with the generalities, but never wanted to hear the specifics of his crappy days. While  **Adrien** knew she was a much more than just a designer, Chat only had seen through a tiny window of Marinette's life.

Frowning, she shook her head. "I wish it were just a design that didn't want to cooperate." She held out a lavender envelope. "I got this today."

He opened it to find an acceptance to an internship at Gabriel, and his heart jumped happily. He was so proud of her for making it through the hoops.  She was going to be the  **youngest** intern they'd ever had, and she was going to rock it. "Isn't this good news?" Though she'd told Adrien she no longer looked up to his father as a person, it had always been her dream to work at Gabriel. What had changed and why didn't he know? He was doubly her friend. He should know all the important things.

She almost looked like she wanted to cry. "It should be good news, but...."  Her finger pointed at the signature, Gabriel Agreste, a flourish in lurid purple.  

He kind of wondered what his father was going for with this bold statement of color. The man had gotten weirder and weirder, and everyone chalked it up to him being a creative genius, but Adrien was wondering if it was too early to have him tested for dementia.  And since when did his father sign his name like… shit. He froze.

"You see it, too, don't you," she said.

"It's subtle. I almost missed it." The way his father had signed his name left a void of white space, well lavender space. When reversed, it bore striking similarity to the magenta outline Hawkmoth's victims wore when he spoke to them.

**Author's Note:**

> 30-minute sprint in the dance hallway.
> 
> Feel free to visit me over on [Tumblr](http://freedom-shamrock.tumblr.com/). If you have constructive feedback or need to discuss an aspect of this story, I've found that sort of thing tends to work better via direct messaging or asks than the comments section here.


End file.
